


store-bought is fine occasionally

by bigdamnher0



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fighting to the Death To Cope With Unresolved Sexual Tension, M/M, Renhyuck as Sun-Moon Disaster Gays, Urban Fantasy, side markwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdamnher0/pseuds/bigdamnher0
Summary: Things are very wrong, Donghyuck concludes, to have reached a point where he’s resentful of his own friends. It’s not even the sex—well it is, sometimes, but he’s had sex, or at leastonetime he did, when Renjun didn’t hate his guts and Donghyuck’s dick wasn’t wrapped in gauze, and okay maybe it is the sex, most times. Tip of the iceberg, really. There’s something else at play here.Or: Renjun and Donghyuck attempt communicating in the best way they know how.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 166





	store-bought is fine occasionally

**Author's Note:**

> “We pressed our bodies together / We peeled them apart / We exchanged our skins / We talked a little then fell silent.”  
> -Nizar Qabbani, _Attempt to Assassinate A Love Affair_
> 
> “You know I live for the hustle (ah, ah, ah) / But damn, I miss you tonight (ah, ah, mmm)”  
> -Coraline Polachek (don't take this seriously)

☀️

It’s a picture you’ll find at the back of imported milk cartons: all dewy moss and cream-colored cows and green for miles and more. Sloping in and out your periphery, like so. All it needs now is a harp, maybe some kid yodelling into the sun-blasted sky.

It’s too picturesque, is the thing.

This advertorial slice of quiet Donghyuck already knows, without a sliver of doubt, is hiding something just beyond the naked eye. He can almost trace the illusion in the air, veiling everything from runaway criminals to their stash of stolen toys.

 _Or bodies_ , Donghyuck’s mind supplies helpfully.

He hopes he finds none. Bodies, that is. Not that he’s particularly spooked by the idea, but he’s not fond of penciling in more hours tomorrow to hunker over paperwork. Field days are already a mammoth-sized task to beat on its own, and his sanity as a relatively young investigator is an old fraying thing. Or maybe Donghyuck just misses home.

It took his department a whole fat month to track down Liu Yangyang. Slippery kid. Knew all the exit routes by heart. That, or he bought a spell, because he was Nonmagical if they stuck to his record, and each Houdini act he pulled was utterly flawless. Just a carcass of shattered glass on the ground and a strange magnetism in the air, like something not from this world. They were always a second too late.

But Liu Yangyang was a farmer’s son before the papers called him something else. Probably herding cows, long before he ever dreamed of defaming the National Museum of History, before he learned the trappings of a Compelling Spell and made all the city hall statues twerk their marble asses each time the national anthem played. Impressive enough to get his folder on top of Lee Donghyuck’s eternal pile— _Whoa, haven’t had a crazy one like this in a while_ , to which Taeyong laughed, told him, _you know it takes one to know one_. Donghyuck didn’t argue with that. His captain knew him best.

Or second-best. Donghyuck is trying— _capital T_ —to keep his thoughts from meandering in the non-work direction, but these are trying times. Also with a capital T. He forgot his protective amulet and Renjun is going to have his neck. He’s also running on Red Bull fumes. Both are things that co-exist in his lizard brain like twin planets careening towards a bright end.

Yangyang’s hauling in the second case into the back of the van when he spots the cow. “Hey there, darlin’”, he coos, sending a breathless smile over his shoulder. The cow is milky white and staring at him with mild curiosity. “This?” He pats the case happily. “Just a lil’ pocket money from Mr. Jung, over there in that big shiny building of his. A gift to me, but he doesn’t know that yet. Keep a secret?”

Yangyang winks. The cow stares back, tail swishing.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “Leaving already? Just when we finally meet? I know. I’m sorry. Kind of in a hurry. But hey, when I buy this town, I’ll come back to you, okay?” Yangyang reaches out and pats the soft coat on its head. “Watch over things while I’m gone?”

“That’s not a body in there, is it?” says the cow.

Yangyang screams.

The plan goes south from there; Donghyuck doesn’t mean to speak while he’s transfigured, he was supposed to sit there and let the kid dig his own grave himself, but Dongyuck’s—distracted. His form flickers, and then he’s slipping clumsily out of his transformation like a loose thread pulled by too-antsy fingers, and he lands pitifully on his knees with a curse. His mouth tastes like wet earth. Yum.

“How long?” Yangyang demands, plastered up against the van, but the shock on his face is already folding into something sharp. “How long have you been following me?”

“Long enough,” Donghyuck complains, dusting the grass stains from his pants. He exhales at the mind-blowing expanse of green and scattered cows beyond them and claps once. “Well, good news—I’ve tailed you enough to know you’re not involved in anything else but the Jung case— _yay_ , no manslaughter, right? Bad news is—well. You’re involved in the Jung case.” Donghyuck pouts. “I’m kind of a fan of your work though. The Compelling spell on the city hall? Fucking iconic! I’d let you go, but today I just _really_ wanna call it a day.” Donghyuck grins, bounces his shoulders as if to say, _well, how about it?_

Yangyang’s face spasms as he goes through the five stages of grief. Not unsurprising. Most people do, once Donghyuck opens his mouth. Finally, Yangyang blurts, “They brought me _a kid_?”

Donghyuck sighs. “We’re kind of short-staffed at the moment, okay? I assure you, _hyung_ , you don’t wanna do that with this _kid_ around,” Donghyuck suggests, eyes catching the hand creeping behind Yangyang’s back. “Got my team around the perimeter an hour ago. Whole place is hoodoo-proofed, hex-free, whatever you wanna call it. Sorry but,” he shrugs, “I’ve cut your wings, Angel. You’re not some run-of-the-mill delinquent, I’ll give you that. But it ends today. Just give me the spell—“

“Who says it’s a spell?”

A shot splits the air, ricocheting across the farm with the promise of tinnitus. A curl of smoke trickles out from the barrel of Yangyang’s gun. It trembles in his hand. His eyes are feverish as they look around for Donghyuck’s limp body, but it’s gone.

A _buzz_ climbs Yangyang’s nape. He swats at the air; nothing. Gone, then back again in the next second. Grunting, Yangyang twists his body and tries to catch it—again, too quick for hands. A minute passes. And then it’s back— _buzz_ , something tugging at the follicle of his neck—before a crushing weight materializes on the small of his back. Donghyuck, now human again, sends a chop to his wrist, and the gun flies and clatters out of reach; Yangyang goes down _hard_.

“Thought you were the fire specialist,” Yangyang gasps into the dirt.

Relief zings through Donghyuck’s body. The housefly is always a gamble, because morphing smaller doubles the chances of, well, _dying_ by mere, accident, like the one time Renjun, groggy and freshly woken from a nap had stumbled into the garden—Donghyuck stops himself. He’s doing it again; he’s losing it.

“I _am_ the fire specialist,” Donghyuck affirms through his teeth, doesn’t know if it’s the particular angle of the sun today or the fact that he’s sleep-deprived and trying not to think of his boyfriend at work that Yangyang manages to slip an arm out and throw dust in his face. Donghyuck splutters, then shouts, “ _Fuck_ , do you want to see a llama today, kid? Don’t make me do it. I know you’re not the biggest fan.” Yangyang freezes—so Donghyuck takes the moment to snatch his wrists back. “Shit—alright, so here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to stop struggling, then we’re going to have a nice walk back to base. No more tricks. Enough.”

Yangyang glowers. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” Donghyuck replies. He pulls him up to his feet, and Yangyang wilts as they do. “It was a good run, though right? Did you have fun?”

Yangyang slackens with what Donghyuck hopes is resignation.

“I can’t believe they let some fucking kid after me,” Yangyang murmurs.

“Well some _kid_ captured you, so, there’s that.” Donghyuck walks them up the dirt path, away from the cows’ curious eyes. “Hey—hey! Walk in a straight line.”

“Fine,” Yangyang spits. And then of course, he does the complete opposite and flings his body back, head butting the side of Donghyuck’s face with a solid _crack_.

It’s not that Donghyuck doesn’t see it coming. He does. He’s just—occupied. Cursing, he blinks rapidly to keep white out of his eyes, then makes a wild grab for Yangyang’s ankle the moment he dives for the gun—

Donghyuck imagines a faucet, turned all the way on—imagines veins going alight with molten heat—and Yangyang’s spine goes rigid, his eyes blistering with the shock of it. It’s all illusion, all imagined kindling fire, but it does its job. Liu Yangyang crumples to the ground. One last broken syllable slips valiantly past his lips.

Donghyuck waits on his haunches.

A cool breeze cards through the grass. Yangyang’s chest rises softly.

It’s over, but the taste of grass lingers bitterly in the roof of his mouth, like over-steeped tea and regret. When Donghyuck returns to himself, he finds at least twenty other cows regarding him, their black eyes accusing.

“What?” Donghyuck demands, straightening. The cut on his cheek where the bullet grazed is only just starting to make itself known. Instinctively, Donghyuck reaches for the amulet on his neck and grasps nothing. He curses. “Look, I was going to be late,” Donghyuck explains feebly, to someone who won’t hear.

What the hell. He really is losing it.

☀️

“’S’like something fucking died in your mouth,” is the first thing Renjun tells him after their three days of parting. Donghyuck remembers a childhood behind a pew: on the third day the Lord and Savior went to the underworld and told the devil to _fuck right off_. And then he was born again. Or something of the sort. On the third day, Renjun looks as glorious as ever, hair askew and mouth a hazard, eyes apocalyptic when they land on each new bruise on Donghyuck’s ribs.

Still, the spill of the morning sun finds them both in bed. It softens the harsh lines on Renjun’s face, even as he hisses, “you wrestle a fucking bear at work?”

Donghyuck doesn’t gift this with a response. He’s half in, half out of sleep enough he can curl into the heat of Renjun’s palm without much ado. He imagines how this pulls at Renjun’s face, then doesn’t. It’s always easier like this—this liminal space before they’re fully awake to reckon what they’ve done to each other. What they haven’t.

“Time is it,” Donghyuck says instead. He cringes at the gravel in his voice.

“Seven fifteen in the morning, sleeping beauty. Go back to sleep. You crashed two hours ago.” In the murk of their room, Renjun’s silhouette is shuffling about. Donghyuck follows him with one eye open.

Renjun works a proper nine-to-five job in the city. Advertising. Smiles a lot, most likely. With a natural charm like that, it was only common sense for him to put it to work where it could be of real help, even when the man could wield ice magic better than anyone Donghyuck has ever seen. _Some of the best things in life don’t come from crushed crystals._

He’s trying to recall who told him this when Renjun’s shadow falls over him. This close, he smells like sleep and their shared citrus soap. When he tugs the sheet over Donghyuck’s exposed shoulder, Donghyuck shivers, counterintuitively.

“Dinner tonight?” Donghyuck yawns.

“Ah, fuck. I can’t,” he hears, after a beat. “Don’t wait up for me tonight. We have a kick-off pitch tomorrow for this VIP client—Jeno says he can handle finalizing the deck but I’m betting on getting a call in a few hours, asking me to save him. He’s gonna use some fancy font like fucking Papyrus on all the slides and I can’t bear it.”

“Were those words? Those things that came out of your mouth.”

“Shut up.” Renjun huffs out a laugh. “Anyway, Jisung’s got finals coming up, so he’s gonna be cooped up here with you. Someone’s gotta get groceries though, and I better see good shit in the pantry. None of that microwavable stuff. Jisung’s gonna hoard snacks and he’ll tell you it’s for his friends, but none of them are gonna come over, and he’s gonna eat it all and die from sodium overdose—“

“Fucking college kids,” Donghyuck groans, even though he graduated just four years ago, then whines, “Jun-ah, that’s _cold_ ,” when Renjun slips the amulet around his neck—silver chain, black tourmaline—and stuffs it into his shirt without warning.

“Don’t leave it again—quit it!” A warning gust of ice-cold magic flares into the skin of Donghyuck’s chest, like Bigfoot decided to give him a hickey, and it shuts him up. Balefully, Donghyuck opens both eyes and sees something complicated pass Renjun’s face. “Make this easier for me, Lee Donghyuck,” Renjun says, part scorn, part a laugh, part something else entirely.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll behave at work,” he calls out, “Only for you, babe.”

Renjun stops by the door. His hair is damp from the shower, darkening the collar of his crisp shirt. It’ll dry by the time his bus arrives in Seoul. In the darkness, Donghyuck can only imagine how his face moves. Renjun announces, “I wanna eat naengmyeon tomorrow.”

“Naengmyeon?”

“Buy us buckwheat noodles. I’ll cook us a bowl tomorrow. The best fucking naengmyeon of your lives. Tell Jisung to survive exams til then, okay?”

Donghyuck rubs his eyes, feeling off-balanced again. Nobody in Renjun’s creative agency will ever know of the man’s sailor mouth. “‘Kay,” he murmurs, then, “Kiss?” But Renjun’s already gone.

☀️

Jungwoo and Mark come over for their weekly anime ritual while Donghyuck’s thinking about it. _Time_ , that is. It’s hard not to, not when he sees Mark Lee’s face each day at work as a healer specializing in new medicine and thinks, _damn, we made it._ They’ve come a long way since being starry-eyed freshmen in the Academy, wistful about all the Legit Shit they’d get to contribute once unshackled into the real world, the reigns fully in their hands. They’re not too shabby in the love department, either. In the end, Mark ends up with Kim Jungwoo, a trainer in the Protected Magical Creatures Department—then a notorious heartbreaker—after pining pathetically after him for four years, and Donghyuck gets Huang Renjun.

Donghyuck doesn’t want to think too hard about how that happened. Doesn’t like the vulnerability that comes with it. As a rule of thumb, crushes are something you fold inside you so deep you forget you’re limping with it. Donghyuck doesn’t know if he _forgot_ or if he’s still _limping_ —either way, following a broken clavicle, a near-death experience, and a third party (Mark) pummelling sense back into him, Renjun (The Crush) kisses him one cold winter afternoon and says, _let’s try._ So they do. Renjun’s one lucky motherfucker.

Years later, there’s a loft-style apartment, a garden, and an unrepentant freeloader by the name of Park Jisung, who is best friends with someone whom Renjun owes a life debt. It’s great, all in all.

As Jungwoo and Mark drop a watermelon into his arms as they shoulder in his home in the middle of godless July, Donghyuck just wishes the _boyfriend—_ if he can even call him that—was part of the picture too—if not all time then at least _some_ times _._ But Renjun has regular person shifts, and Donghyuck’s occupation is—unique, so to speak; sometimes the planets just don’t align.

Donghyuck opens the kitchen window, letting the oppressive heat sieve through, then says, “Hey, Jungwoo-hyung.”

“Hm?” Jungwoo turns from where his head is pillowed on Mark’s lap. On the TV screen, someone summons the world’s biggest hawk and leaps onto its back. “What?”

Donghyuck steals the end of the couch and lays Jungwoo’s feet on his lap. “You think I could borrow one of your phoenixes next time?”

Jungwoo’s eyes glimmer, but Mark beats him to it, “No, _no_ you may not. Yo, remember the last time you tried to get a pet? Almost gouged your eyes out. Just sit there and stop thinking about work for once.”

“I’m not thinking about work,” Donghyuck protests. “I’m watching _Naruto_ with you lame ass weebs.”

“Ooh, Naruto versus Sasuke? I love this episode,” Jisung says, hovering behind them with a snack in one hand. “Whoa, is that a new jutsu? Sick!”

“That’s because we’re your only friends, Hyuck,” Jungwoo says, which is. _Ow_. But true. Donghyuck tickles the bottom of his foot in retaliation.

“How long were you gone this time?” Mark asks, ignoring the squirming.

“Just three days,” Donghyuck says, and Jisung interjects behind them—“But before that he was away for two months. We thought hyung had _died_.”

Donghyuck shoots him a glare that has Jisung scurrying out the room.

"But I _didnt_ ," Donghyuck presses.

Mark accepts the popcorn that Jungwoo hand-feeds him. Some crumbs catch on the edge of his mouth. Mouth full, Mark says, “Renjun’s okay with it?”

“With what?”

“You know.”

“He’s—used to it,” Donghyuck replies, which is a non-answer. Donghyuck doesn’t want to be thinking about Renjun right now, not when Sasuke is pummelling Naruto’s face into a tomato pulp, and Jungwoo’s tracing the alphabet into Mark’s knee.

“Oh shit, man down,” Jungwoo says. Another explosion, all fire and ice. “Whoa, this is intense. These guys really needed this though. Nothing like a fight to the death to appease ten years of sexual tension.”

Mark laughs, a choppy disbelieving sound. “Sasuke and _Naruto_?”

“No, Sasuke and Hinata,” Jungwoo deadpans. He glances up and jolts upright when he filters the expression on Mark’s face. “Markie—what—? _Of course_ Sasuke and Naruto. It’s always been Sasuke and Naruto. That’s the whole point of the show.”

Mark keeps crunching on the pile in his hand. His left check is a pouch. “Really?”

Jungwoo makes a mournful, disbelieving noise. Mark looks genuinely surprised, maybe a little amused. “Holy shit,” Jungwoo says. “Did you think Naruto was _het_?”

“I mean,” Mark stuttered, “like, I guess? I liked Naruto and Hinata. They’re cute.”

“Babe, oh my god. I can’t do this.” Jungwoo clutches himself like he’s undergoing cardiac arrest. “I have to forget you ever said that. Oh my _god_. Hyuck, do you have a memory spell?”

Donghyuck’s tuning them out, trying to salvage some sort of euphoria from the carnage on screen. Tries not to think about Renjun’s face earlier this morning, how his fingers had lingered on Donghyuck’s neck, like he was checking for a pulse.

Right then, he’d wanted to say, _Don’t go yet._ But the words felt flimsy. He also wanted to cage Renjun back into bed with his arms, bury his face between his legs and make him late for work, but mostly—Donghyuck misses touch. Misses _being_ touched.

Watching Naruto and Sasuke trade searing blows cloaked with desperation makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. Watching Jungwoo cradle Mark’s face, even if Mark just broke his little heart with gay disappointment _sucks balls_. Even this metaphor is making him lonely.

Alright, so maybe he and Renjun skipped a lot of things on the way here. Like talking. And asking for help. Basic relationship stuff. The tourmaline amulet beneath his shirt burns.

He pushes to his feet then patters into the kitchen in search for more snacks—Jungwoo crying, “Naruto loved Sasuke so much, he said he’d take his pain and _die_ with him, like who says that, Mark? Who says that?”—and sighs when he thinks about the paperwork waiting for him tomorrow. _Liu Yangyang Found Missing in Cell: The Great Escape?_ He can already see the headlines.

Because Mark feels a summer fever coming, his friends eventually bid their goodbyes. Before they go, Mark pinches Donghyuck’s elbow, says “So, uh, when can we see you guys in the same plane of existence again? I don’t know, would be nice to know you’re not just a figment of my imagination. I miss you both.”

 _I miss us too._ Donghyuck grins. “See you tomorrow, hyung,” he replies instead.

He slams the door when he sees Jungwoo and Mark’s hands touch on their way out.

☀️

Things are very wrong, Donghyuck concludes, to have reached a point where he’s resentful of his own _friends_. It’s not even the sex—well it is, sometimes, but he’s had sex, or at least _one_ time he did, when Renjun didn’t hate his guts and Donghyuck’s dick wasn’t wrapped in gauze, and okay maybe it is the sex, most times. Tip of the iceberg, really. There’s something else at play here.

It’s hard not to spiral when you’re surrounded by the World’s Best Couple, who are perfect in just about every way it matters. 1st Place in Communication, hands down. At work, Mark gets kissy selfies from Jungwoo with cloying little voice notes, and Donghyuck can only watch as his best friend turns as scarlet as the concoction he’s brewing. The heck; it’s cute. Until Donghyuck tries it on Renjun and gets a message four hours later: _What the heck are you doing_

 _I’m Trying_ , he types back. He doesn’t press send.

So he’s touch starved—and maybe a little homesick. Boo-hoo. That last time they really, uh, touched was months ago—after Donghyuck had keeled over in the middle of a theatre from of a nefarious blood hex, because some underground organization wanted him gone, they were still out there, but they don’t talk about that—and when the hospital cleared him Renjun had shoved him against their apartment door, Donghyuck brushing the outline of his own cock bulging from the pocket of Renjun’s cheek and shuddering like his soul was being dragged out, inch by inch, into the recesses of Renjun’s own body. After he’d come, Renjun wiped his mouth and disappeared into the shower, and the next few weeks passed like nothing had happened—Renjun got the promotion in his normal person desk job and burrowed even deeper into his work, and the slice of time they shared only dwindled. The only thing that changed was how antsy Renjun got about the amulet. Protective sigils Donghyuck had never seen appearing in their apartment: under the garden gnome, over each door jamb, the corner where he went to game.

His last assignment took him out of the city for three months—the longest he’d been on the field. By the time he’d come out the other side— _alive_ , miraculously—he’d caught five runaway criminals, one Liu Yangyang, retrieved twenty-seven stolen spells, and saved a mall from blowing up. In between the blur, he’d slumped back in his awful motel room, thinking about calling 1-800- _LONELY?_ and jacked himself until he came—and, on the nights he felt extra desperate, he’d stuffed his shirt in his mouth, sprinkled a little Compelling spell on his dildo and buried his face in the sheets as the memory of Renjun inspired it to action (Twas very inspired.) Not his proudest moments.

They’re reaching a breaking point. Or maybe it’s just Donghyuck. He can’t really tell. On social media Renjun is ever radiant, bagging new partnerships that will get him stuck in the office for longer. Ever perfect, those pristine smiles. Happy. Donghyuck hates that he’s scrolling through the pictures, looking for traces of _wrong_ , but it’s hard to communicate when their best form of it has always been in the silences. He can’t remember when it stopped working for them.

When they first started this, they were quiet, too. Quiet, when Renjun gave him the key to his apartment, Donghyuck’s eyes blurring over, and he’d said, _as long as the kid isn’t home all the time_.

Turned out Jisung practically lived in Renjun’s pocket, and that it didn’t bother him. Not one bit. Turned out, Donghyuck wanted to know everything about Renjun. Wanted their lives to tangle until it was too late for take-backs.

On Mark’s twenty-second birthday, Jungwoo’s out for a week. In his stead he sends his ugly three-headed hellhound to show up at Mark’s cubicle, in each gritted maw a box of chocolates, a letter, and a heart-shaped balloon that manages to spell out: _Baby you’re the gift that keeps on giving,_ and Mark sputters and swoons like a lovestruck teenager, the way Renjun did for Donghyuck when they were in the Academy, snaggletooth peeking out his grin, but that’s another story for another time.

☀️

Donghyuck manages to call it a day just shy of missing the last bus home. It’s rush hour on a Wednesday evening, so he squeezes the last of his magic to transfigure into a tabby, squishing himself inside some old lady’s moldy handbag and praying that Renjun’s caught in traffic, too. The odds are against him, but he forgot to ask Mark for a potion; he won’t be able to re-spawn if Renjun decides to freeze his capillaries for being late to their noodle date.

 _Date_. The word makes his heart veer off-road. _Finally_ , a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of them breathing in the same room. Maybe small talk to loosen up. Shoo Jisung off to do whatever college kids do. Blow Renjun against the tabletop, fucking _finally_. But first—grocery list. Donghyuck’s the youngest (and most skilled) investigator his department has seen in twenty years for a reason, and he manages to grab all the ingredients in record time. Taeyong would be proud.

He zips up the steps, practices his speech in his head, his shirt soaking through from the day’s vestigial heat even at 9:45 PM, and barges through the door—

“‘Jun-ah, the craziest thing happened today—“

Donghyuck stops in his steps. In the kitchen, two figures turn to greet him. The other one, towering significantly over Renjun’s small frame, bears a smile so handsome it sucker-punches Donghyuck at first sight.

“Oh, hello Donghyuck!” That’s Lucas, he’s sure of it; Donghyuck knows the face from Renjun’s curated Facebook feed—even on LinkedIn, Christ—and he gapes at him like someone lost in a scrying bowl.

“Hey,” Donghyuck manages.

“You’re early,” Renjun drawls. He looks caught mid-laugh, and he has an apron on. There’s a hint of a smile in his cheek. Donghyuck feels like he’s stepped into the wrong room. “Finally! I was missing my _assistant_ , so Lucas offered to lend me a hand.”

Shedding his shoes, Donghyuck shoots an apologetic look, but Renjun’s already turning back to his chopping board. Lucas hunches, grinning amicably as Donghyuck lays the bags on the kitchen island and peeks over his shoulder. True enough, Lucas is pickling Daikon radish slices on a green bowl. Their work area is full, but neat: knives, carrot shavings, onions, chives, a butt of garlic.

“Sorry for interrupting, guys,” Donghyuck comments. “Whoa. This looks a little intense.”

Lucas laughs; even the sound of it, perfectly sculpted. “Renjun says tonight was special, so I did what I could.”

“I can’t julienne radishes to save my life.” Renjun turns to him. “Really, I owe you.”

Lucas makes an embarrassed laugh that dimples his face. Donghyuck laughs along. “Thanks, Lucas. It’s nice to finally meet you, too.”

If Lucas looks puzzled, he doesn’t dwell on it. “You too, man! Renjun tells me all about you,” he says, after which Renjun’s knife freezes midair. Donghyuck eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, yeah? Lil 'ol me?”

“Yeah, you know.” Lucas’ eyes flicker nervously. “How you have, like, the world’s coolest fucking job—“ Lucas’ mouth generates a couple of _pow-pow_ sounds, while his hands demonstrate some sort of Naruto jutsu. Great, Donghyuck thinks fondly, another weeb. “We were talking about how boring it must be to come after field work. All this domestic nonsense. I’d go insane, I think.”

“You’ll be surprised,” Donghyuck says, then taps the side of his head. ”Don’t have much to lose in that department.”

Renjun scoffs. “Don’t listen to him. He’d live in his cubicle if he had the option.”

“Hey! That’s an exaggeration.” Donghyuck pouts at him. He winks conspiratorially at Renjun and admits, “I love playing house with you.”

“Right, you love it.” Renjun laughs, the sound tight. “All this high-octane stuff. Lucas, how’s that going?”

Lucas picks a slice with his fingers and dangles it over Renjun’s lips. Donghyuck watches it happen, watches the hint of pink tongue as Renjun feeds like a baby bird and makes a bright sound. “Lucas! That’s crazy.”

Lucas blushes. “It’s alright.”

Renjun claps his hands together. “Okay! Things are finally moving.” To Donghyuck, he asks, “You got everything I asked?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, allowing, for once, the too-wide shape of Renjun’s smile to temporize him. “I got them.”

“That’s my cue! I should um, I should go,” Lucas declares.

“Oh, yeah. Shit, sorry for keeping you. You should go before it gets dark.”

“No, it’s alright, really. Had to wait out the buzz anyway.” He nods at Donghyuck as he rinses his hands, pushes his sleeves back down and walks back to retrieve his shoes. “Have a great date you guys!”

“Hyung, you’re going?” comes Jisung’s voice. He comes barrelling down the steps with the Switch in his hand.

“Yep. Some of us have 8 AM desk jobs, kid.” Lucas ruffles Jisung’s hair fondly and Donghyuck startles at that. He may have missed a very important memo. Or several of them.

“See you tomorrow, Jun-ah! And don’t forget to get some running in for the weekend, okay?”

 _Jun-ah._ The door clicks shut, and Renjun turns back to his chopping board, adding to his pile of feathery carrots.

“So,” Donghyuck begins, fingers crawling around Renjun’s waist, “when were you gonna tell me Lucas is like, built like a Greek fucking god in person? How is that allowed?”

The side of Renjun’s cheek twitches. “You’ve met him before.”

Donghyuck pulls away. “What?”

“Last year, drinks with the company? We won the Creativity Award.”

Donghyuck’s mind floats, like a bug in a vial. “Uhh.”

Renjun rests the handle of his knife and sighs. “Forget it. You were late, remember? You were high on painkillers, probably. That was the day—“

“—a church fell on me, right. Hah!” Donghyuck shakes off the memory. He doesn’t want to think about work right now, when everything he’s wanted is only now an approximate distance away, the 8-bit noises from Jisung’s Switch and Renjun, close enough to touch. He deflects the subject, “So, what’s happening this weekend?”

“Team retreat,” Renjun replies. “We’re hiking up Seoraksan, so I’ll probably be out for a few days.” He pauses. “I forgot to tell you, sorry.”

Donghyuck wards any sort of expression on his face. “No, it’s okay! Cool. Look, I’m so sorry for being late—“

“It’s alright,” Renjun says curtly, then amends this with a plastic smile. “I ate a little already.”

“You did?”

“The team wanted to go out for drinks, so I joined. I was expecting you to get caught up in work, so.” Renjun gathers up the slices in a nearby bowl. "I was right."

“Cool,” Donghyuck says, then sticks his fingers in the bowl Lucas left to taste his hand-pickled radish himself. It’s fucking perfection. Donghyuck coughs. “Cool, I just—wish you texted me first—I think I almost killed myself trying to rush home.”

Renjun smiles, wry, “I don’t have to ask for permission for everything I do.”

“That’s _definitely_ not what I meant.”

“Well that’s what you implied. Did you call me to say you'd be late?”

“I texted—“

“Oh, well thanks for that,” Renjun laughs. “You know—“

“Hyung, I’m hungry,” Jisung moans. Both their heads whip towards him. He’s crashed on the coach, discarded his Switch to pout.

Donghyuck says. “Why is he still here?”

“He _lives_ here, Hyuck,” Renjun says, pushing past him to get the pot boiling. “In case you forgot that, too.”

“The hell does that—“ At this point, he’s not even horny anymore. Just pulled taut and pissed off. The small person inside him regrets not hexing Lucas before he left. “You know what? Whatever. Let’s just—“

“What the _fuck_ is this offbrand shit?” Renjun snaps. Donghyuck turns to find him glaring down at the plastic bag of discounted snacks. Jisung totters over, fearless, and cackles when he reads the label.

“Creme Betweens?” Jisung reads. “Hyung, where did you even get this?”

“I don’t wanna hear it! Look, you won’t even taste the difference.”

“First of all— _no_.” Renjun pulls out each item from the bag with barely held frustration. ‘What’s this—toilet paper, Red Bull, lube—“

“Didn’t hear anything,” Jisung says.

“Sesame seeds, okay, at least you got _one_ fucking thing down—“

“I got cucumbers too—“

“Oh my god, Nutella!” Jisung whoops as he holds the thing in the air like it’s a dragon’s egg. “It’s a big fucking tub, too!”

“Don’t say _fuck_ , Jisung,” Renjun scolds, grabbing said big fucking tub and whirls to Donghyuck to say, “What in Merlin’s beard is this?”

“It’s Nutella?”

A nearby pot bubbles over. Renjun’s face swirls with fury. Not calmly, he says, “I made you a list of very specific things, and you got nothing right, but _Nutella_? Are we going on a zombie lockdown? Huh? You living some sort of fantasy where we eat nothing but fucking Nutella all day?”

Donghyuck retorts, “Hey, it has a long shelf-life.” After a pause, he adds, “And the jumbo jar was on sale, alright?”

Renjun slams his hands down on the island, then realizes he’s knocked over a dispenser of chilli powder. He stomps over to the sink and runs his hands under the tap, seething. “Can’t believe this… I told you one thousand times! I made you a fucking list! I never ask you things, and when I do, you fuck it up!”

“We can just get take-out if it’s so complicated—“

Renjun looks apocalyptic. “I want to make _naengmyeon_ , because it’s the middle of July and we’re living in Satan's godless armpit—what did you think I was cutting these carrots for?”

“I wanna eat Naengmyeon,” Jisung assures them.

“We’ll make your cold ass fucking noodles, alright, stop yelling! I got everything, okay?” Donghyuck sticks his hands into the bags, scrambling for the items. “Shit, well, okay maybe not buckwheat noodles. I got ramyeon though—“

Sink-water swirls into the air, suspended like blossoms.

“Yeah, so no naengmyeon then,” Jisung blurts.

Slowly, Donghyuck steps back from the sink. Renjun turns slowly.

“What did I do all this work for,” Renjun says, his eyes semaphore, “if we were just going to eat _fucking cup ramen_.”

“Look, Jun-ah,” Donghyuck wheezes; the bubbles around Renjun’s head shift into silver coils. “I’m really sorry—“

“Oh, now you're sorry?”

“What do you want me to say?” Donghyuck shouts. “I’m sorry I can’t be Ina Garten! Why don’t you go and call up Lucas then, huh?” Christ, he sounds exactly like he did when he was fifteen.

Renjun snarls. “What the fuck does that mean?” This time, he marches down the trench-long distance between them and grabs Donghyuck by the coat, which wilts in his fist as Donghyuck disappears—

A green bird flutters out and soars into the open window.

_“Lee Donghyuck!”_

🌙

It had been harder to specialize, with an affinity wider than most, but Renjun doesn’t regret taking the most regular, Nonmagical desk job the world has ever seen. He’d never possessed the same breakneck passion Donghyuck had, and he could live with that. Even if Donghyuck still prodded him about it. These small, prickling reminders. Even if—once upon a time—Renjun had wanted nothing but to impress the sun-browned boy that could disqualify anyone with one eyebrow raise.

The first time Donghyuck had kissed him—reaching over their plates and the big bowl of naengmyeon they shared, his face tight with nervousness—Renjun’s sixteen year-old heart expanded so wide the trees outside uprooted. It took half an hour to get them back in the ground, and minutes later they’d found out that Renjun had frozen all the water towers in their street _too_ , and he’d spent the afternoon hiding his traumatized face in the restaurant bathroom while Donghyuck climbed the rungs and melted everything back to normal.

Donghyuck found him later, grinning recklessly in a way that compelled Renjun to regurgitate all his secrets, lay them all out in the light so Donghyuck only had to pick and choose which weapon to use against him. There was no use in hiding; his own magic flared towards Donghyuck—a flower craning to bask in that terrible smile, high in fructose content. The joyful rot of it. Renjun ached and ached and ached.

It’s been months since Donghyuck looked at him like that. Since Donghyuck looked at him, period. The chimerical illusion of an easy, warmth-filled relationship had faded as Donghyuck fell asleep in the day and worked at night, disappearing for weeks for a hunt, trailing clues. Renjun knew what he was signing up for. Expected it. Understands. No, really. Donghyuck’s dream was always going to be first.

He just wishes Donghyuck didn’t rub it in his face so often. You know; give a little.

Renjun crouches in their garden, listening among the moonflowers and deadly nightshades. They twitch, sensing the waves of fury tapering off Renjun’s body.

“Donghyuck,” he calls out, “why are you hiding?”

Renjun knows he’s here. The poppies tell him so. The fact that Donghyuck won’t stand still and take his punishment like a fucking _man_ is pissing Renjun off even more.

“Fullsun,” he uses his warlock name. “Too chicken you can’t even talk to me like a normal person?”

To his delight, a small, warped voice somewhere among the weeds retorts: “A normal person wouldn’t be absolutely losing it over cold noodles. Why does it matter so much?”

There’s a plink behind Renjun’s ears. And then an ocean.

The moonflowers glow obsidian.

☀️

Jisung peers out at the darkness beyond the window and worries his lip. He hears, carried by the wind, “— _because_ _it’s our anniversary, you shitty asshole!_ ” and thinks, _well darn_. Donghyuck-hyung is gonna die. And Renjun is going to make sure of it.

Oh well. Donghyuck probably deserves it. He twists the cap off the humongous Nutella tub and scoops a pinky-full into his mouth, humming.

Floating in the kitchen are bubbles of soup and murky sink-water Renjun probably forgot about. Something ripples through the house—a ghost, or a tsunami—and Jisung worries maybe a little bit.

Belatedly, he thinks he can hear Donghyuck screaming.

He dials up their neighbors.

☀️

They don’t _do_ anniversaries. Never have. Never needed too—at least, the thought had never occurred to Donghyuck. As he dodges the steady stream of icicles embedding themselves behind him as he runs for his fucking _life_ , Donghyuck admits grossly misinterpreting the situation. Who knew his boyfriend was a romantic? He thinks about what Jungwoo would’ve done, then wishes he didn’t.

Jungwoo probably would’ve talked it out with Mark, bore the honest, god-awful truth, and penultimately fixed things before they got out of hand. Probably said _sorry,_ too. That yucky word. It was just a Jungwoo-Mark thing. A _them_ thing. Maybe he’ll try it these days.

“Missed me, darling?” Donghyuck says instead, in bird from, when Renjun’s face breaches the view thirty feet in the air after crafting an elaborate staircase behind him like he’s fucking Elsa—the bootleg version that’s crazier and infinitely more terrifying. Because he’s Renjun, and Donghyuck’s Donghyuck, and this is _them_ —fighting to the death just above the roofs of their quiet town.

One of his feathers catches Renjun’s magic, and Donghyuck’s flaps feebly for a few seconds before he’s careening down, down into the dirt.

He coughs once, and then he’s human again. Or maybe just the suggestion of it. His whole body is feeling a brain-freeze of the worst kind.

“You know,” Donghyuck gasps, pushing himself to his back; they’re in the soccer field two blocks away, nice and empty and horizontal, and Renjun’s face twists over him like he planned this. “When I told you that you would’ve been a fucking _unstoppable_ investigator—I wasn’t lying! Statement still stands.”

“Get up,” Renjun barks, eyes gleaming. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Donghyuck scoffs. If he shows one sign of fear Renjun is going to end it, clean and ruthless, and he’ll never hear the end of it. Right now Renjun’s right arm is encased with water, the kind that pulses and spikes; probably collected from dew drops he found on the way here. It’s kind of _hot_. He needs to focus.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Donghyuck cries. “If you told me you cared about anniversaries, I would’ve wanted to know, don’t you think? I don’t know—I’d make it special. I would’ve wined and dined you to the death—“

“Stop talking when I’m trying to kill you!”

The grass underneath Donghyuck’s back goes frigid and dies. “Come on, there’s still time. What are you feeling tonight? Pasta?”

“Shut up!”

“Wait, wait! Don’t you wanna see your gift?”

The steps pause. “What?”

Renjun’s eyes are glass pools. Donghyuck swallows, says, “I got you something.” He extends his closed fist and shakes it. “See? Here—“

Renjun huffs, but slowly peers down into it.

“Sike,” Donghyuck says when he’s close enough, and light explodes between his fingers. Renjun yells, blinded.

Donghyuck transforms into a grass snake and hides among the weeds. Happy fucking anniversary. 

☀️

“I’m serious, hyung,” Jisung cries miserably into his cellphone. “They’re going to kill each other!”

Jungwoo replies, “ _You’re being dramatic_.”

“Our garden is on fire, and look—Renjun-hyung’s fucked up the piping!” To demonstrate his point, Jisung shoves his phone under the tap so Jungwoo can hear the way it groans and shudders like an old bone. “How am I being dramatic?”

Jungwoo yawns. “ _Junnie_ _must be really pissed off, huh? Hey, Sungie, wanna hear something cool? I figured out how to use chickens in battle—you’ll need the Master Sword though!”_

Jisung gapes. No one is taking him seriously. Donghyuck and Renjun are going to die by each other’s hands tonight and where is that going to leave him? Mournfully, he sticks another dollop of Nutella in his mouth.

“Please, hyung. I don’t want to be homeless. I can’t let them kill each other!”

Jungwoo laughs tiredly. “ _Oh, they’ll kill each other alright_.”

“What?”

“ _They’ll kill each other, and then they'll revive each other so they can do it all over again. It’s their fucked up mating ritual. It’s just their thing, get it?_ ”

“Not really,” Jisung tries.

“ _Just—I’ll see what I can do, okay? But don’t worry your pretty little head_.” There’s a rustle on the other end of the line, before he hears Jungwoo brokenly cry: _aw, babe, what happened!_ Breathless, he continues, “ _Jisung-ah, hold that thought—Markie just turned into goop_ —“

“Into what?”

“ _God, that’s awful—baby I’m sorry, lemme find you a jar or something_ —“

“Hyung!”

The line goes dead.

☀️

Donghyuck scrapes the bottom of his own magical well at twenty-three transformations, hiding atop the rooftop of some awful startup tech building with fake grass somewhere far from the village and regretting everything that has transpired thus far. He usually caps it at thirteen, but Renjun is good at pushing his limits. His watch informs him it is now 4:13 AM. His stomach tells him it lacks _noodles_. Nightfall is about to make its way to the purple stirrings of dawn, the moon is a dime, and Donghyuck feels exhaustion swallow him whole.

Speaking of dimes, there’s a shiny 500 won coin just two feet away. It’s right there, glinting in the too-green grass. Just waiting for a sleep-deprived loveless warlock to find.

Donghyuck dreams of the day he’ll be financially stable enough to find a stray coin and just walk away, but today is not that day.

He reaches out to grab it.

The moment his fingers brush its surface, it disperses into a shower of gold coins. _Ka-ching!_ Like in a video game, sparks flying. There's a breathless pause that Donghyuck spends watching in horror as each coin morphs into a dagger, suspended in the night sky.

Behind him, Renjun says, “You wearing the amulet?”

Cautiously, Donghyuck turns. There’s a leaf in Renjun’s hair. Donghyuck aches to pluck it out. Instead, he says, “Um… yes?” Which is not a lie; a first.

“Good,” Renjun says. A smile spreads his lips. “Good.”

“Um, those yours?” Donghyuck laughs breathlessly, pointing at the dagger above them. _Daggers_ , plural. “Kinda making me nervous.”

“Aw, baby,” Renjun says. “Can you guess how many?”

“Fuck no.” Their sharp tips begin to turn like arrowheads, all pointing at Donghyuck’s heart. “Wait, um—twelve?”

“Wrong!” Renjun chimes happily. He blows him a kiss.

Donghyuck blurts, “Haha, fu—“ as all of the knives embed themselves into his chest.

🌙

Renjun’s been sick with it for as long as he can remember. Fourteen, trying to sort the chaotic tangle of his own magic, willing it to be compliant, obedient. His magic strayed—was a grenade, barked back, had much too many teeth. Unlike Donghyuck’s, which pulsed forward with single-minded purpose. _I hate him_ , he thinks, watching Lee Donghyuck’s back turn, the brilliant boy with the sun at his beck and call. _I hate him; I swear I do._

The punchline comes at eighteen, his words muffled in the sheets because Donghyuck’s hands are bruising his hips. Thinks, _I’ll ruin myself for you._ Says, instead, _that’s it?_ Practices taunts. Discovers a gift for illusions. Learns all the boy’s soft spots and aims true.

He’s still swallowing the words back. Twenty-four, Donghyuck’s eyes black with fear, from a job at the fringes of the world. Renjun clasps him through the blood and vows, “Lee Donghyuck—you absolute pain in the _ass—_ if you die here I’m never going to fucking forgive you, I’ll drag you back from the underworld myself and tether your spirit to that fucking laundromat you hate, the one that keeps looping Maroon 5, I swear to _god_ I will—”

_If they take you from me, I won’t make it back too._

☀️

Donghyuck’s body recalls breathing before his mind does. Each second he spends alive is a second he regrets. It feels like he has double pneumonia. His lungs crinkle like foil. When he morphs back into a grass snack—a crutch, really—it’s too late: Renjun’s hand snaps into the grass and says, happily, “Got you,” before he kisses the top of his green scaly head and quickly realizes what he’s done.

They both freeze. Renjun drops him like a hot potato.

It takes a second for his body to expand—first bones, then sinew, then blood. Donghyuck comes to, sprawled over the grass by Renjun’s feet. It always takes _forever_ to adjust after the fifth transformation.

“Just let me die,” Donghyuck groans.

“Not until you _talk_.”

“What do you want from me!” He manages to sit upright, tapping the side of his face, where his left eye is still stuck in a reptilian slit. “Seriously!”

“Explain what you meant. The whole Lucas thing, before you bolted,” Renjun demands.

“What thing?”

“Were you _jealous_?”

“Jea—no!” Donghyuck says incredulously. But Renjun’s still staring at him, and it loosens something on his tongue. “I just—I don’t know. Would’ve been nice to know you were gonna be out for a company retreat this weekend, I guess!”

A big, mighty cackle comes out of Renjun, probably echoing down into the street below. His glare returns with full blistering force. “Hyuck, you disappear for weeks without a word and all I can do is pray you’re wearing my mom’s fucking amulet. And even that you’re incapable of doing! I have a life outside _you_ , you know?”

“But do you miss me?” Donghyuck blurts, which is unfair, but no one’s tallying anyway. “Like—ever?”

A weighted pause passes through them.

“I—sometimes,” Renjun says thickly.

“I miss you all the time,” Donghyuck admits. It seems to flay Renjun, whose eyes widen. “I think about you like—all the time.”

“Don’t—“ Renjun resists, but the overflow is petering out. Donghyuck can feel the air settle, the phantom knives in his chest dissipate into the night. “Don’t talk. I’m still angry.”

“I think you broke me,” Donghyuck says, after a while, “It was kinda hot.”

Renjun’s answering laugh is a surprise. Donghyuck watches it, mouth ajar. Renjun crouches and says, up close, “Even now you’re thinking with your dick. Classic Donghyuck. Lemme see your face, stupid.”

Donghyuck crawls forward, unguarded—Renjun’s already beaten the ever-loving shit out of him—and lets his face drop, instead, into the crook of Renjun’s shoulder.

Renjun laughs into the night. It sounds weary. “What is this. What the fuck is happening to us, Hyuck?”

“Just tired,” Donghyuck mumbles. The vowels slur together. “You’re not around.”

Renjun doesn’t speak. Instead, his hand creeps up Donghyuck’s neck. Slowly, he says, “You know, I hate your job. But I know it’s important to you.”

Donghyuck doesn’t open his eyes yet. “I know. Wish you told me though.”

“Wish I didn’t have to. Wish you had a boring desk job, like me. Wish you weren’t… insatiable, all the goddamn time.”

“Touche,” Donghyuck laughs, but the sound is a bad imitation of one. “Look, Jun-ah, I—really, I didn’t think—I mean I thought— _fuck._ Talking was never really our thing, was it?”

“It could be,” Renjun says, tilting Donghyuck’s face to look at him, both hands under his jaw; Donghyuck shudders. “Why the hell not? Talking could be our thing. I used to think you were _cool_ —look at me now.”

“What does that _mean_?”

“How the turn tables,” Renjun singsongs, and Donghyuck laughs.

He grasps Renjun’s small hand. “I mean, it’s not too late, you know? Come _on_ , Renjun. We wouldn't have to miss each other all the time. We’d be the most badass couple. Think about it! Fire and ice. Sun and moon. Donghyuck and Renjun—“

“ _Pass_ ,” Renjun says.

Donghyuck sighs. He pushes his face back into the heat of Renjun’s neck and admits, “Miss how you feel like.”

He files the way Renjun’s breath catches for later. “We should go home,” Renjun says, straightening to his feet. “We haven’t fed Jisung.”

“How? We’re stuck,” Donghyuck declares. “Everything was locked when I got here. We’d have to climb down.”

“Then make yourself useful and morph back into a snake so I can use you like a rope,” Renjun bites back.

“But I’m tiiiiiired.”

“You’re making excuses!”

“I literally cannot feel my fucking legs—thanks for that!”

“—on and on and _on_ ,” comes the voice, which arrives like a storm, and which Donghyuck quickly realizes belongs to Jungwoo, of all things; he’s on the back of Haley, his hippogriff. “Hello lovebirds,” he greets as Haley makes a soft landing. There’s a big jar of _something_ in his arms, which he deposits into Renjun’s hands as he slips off his back. “Yikes. You guys don’t look very good.”

“Hyung? What’s this?” Renjun asks. He peers into the jar of goop to find a pair of circle-framed glasses suspended inside. “Is this—?”

“Mark. Yeah. It’s awful.” To Donghyuck, he says, “We told him to take it easy, didn’t we? But Markie enjoys being the guinea pig to his own studies too much. Look where that got him. I have a slime-boyfriend for a _week_.”

“Hey, loser,” Donghyuck taps the jar. “You look good.”

In response, the goop turns orange. “Anyway, it's over right? Your weird mating ritual? All good? Good. Here.” Jungwoo pulls two bottles from his hip sack and tosses it Donghyuck’s way. “The green stuff’s for the burns. The second one—don’t shake it!—the second one’s your ride home. Play nice. Some of us want to sleep. Now—” Jungwoo smiles graciously at Renjun as he takes Mark back in his arms; belatedly, Donghyuck notices his eyes are bloodshot, and he’s wearing his strawberry pajamas, “—if you could please _keep it the fuck down_ , that would be great. Good. Night.”

With a pat on the back of Haley’s leg, they’re off in the sky.

Donghyuck regards the tick-looking thing inside the bottle before he pops open the stopper. A spider balloons into all its eight by ten foot potential and blinks all its eyes at him.

“Aw, man! _Gross_.”

“Don’t be mean. Look, it even has a cute holster. Here, drink—“ Donghyuck shakes his head when Renjun gives him Jungwoo’s potion. “Drink!”

“I’ll manage. You drink first.”

Renjun rolls his eyes and jams the bottle’s oddly-sheened contents into Donghyuck’s parted mouth. “Drink if you want to live. I may or may not have poisoned you.” Donghyuck swallows and mutters something incomprehensible, so Renjun barks, “Speak up!”

Donghyuck grimaces. “I totally lost on purpose.”

“Oh, did you?” Renjun pulls himself up the spider’s back when it politely kneels on eight legs. His glare is triumphant. “Maybe I should’ve just killed you for real.”

“I really fucking missed you and I wish we could be fucking each others’ brains out instead of us yelling at each other,” Donghyuck blurts.

Renjun looks like a drenched cat.

“What?” Donghyuck says, bristling. “ _You_ were the one who said talking could be our thing. So I’m talking! And while we’re at it, I wanted to tell you I kinda love you—“

Renjun screams.

“Why are you screaming!”

“Get in here!” Renjun hisses. His whole face is red. “When we get back home, we’re going to feed Jisung, and then we’re going to _talk_. Like, real talking. It’s going to be excruciating. And we’re gonna do it.”

Donghyuck grabs Renjun’s offered arm and tries to make himself comfortable behind him. His arms slide around Renjun’s small torso. “Fine,” he says, tucking his cheek against the spot between Renjun’s shoulder blades. "Let's do it!"

“Good.”

“Fine! But I'm hungry!"

“There's ramyeon at home."

“Fine."

The outline of Renjun's cheek twitches. He's trying to suppress a smile and failing spectacularly at it. Donghyuck knows, because he is, too.

☀️🌙

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this whole thing with [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/0lvXfUug5YmOHOyHgXufqF?si=kIKkg83HSAy_z-HKsF8z-A) on loop
> 
> find me on [twt!](https://twitter.com/prodjohnmark/status/1293583775067119616?s=20)


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